


Her Eyes Were Hungry

by VaporLace



Category: A Summer's End - Hong Kong 1986 (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/F, Female Protagonist, First Kiss, POV First Person, Retelling, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaporLace/pseuds/VaporLace
Summary: Part one of a re-imagining of the characters and story of "A Summer's End: Hong Kong 1986" with a supernatural twist. Michelle Cheung is a reserved office girl who has yet to truly break out of her shell in a Hong Kong moving into the future. A broken high heel pulls her quiet conformist life into a strange new direction when she meets a mysterious woman that awakens something hungry inside of her heart.
Relationships: Michelle Cheung | Cheung Fong Ha/Sam Wong | Wong Ka Yan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20





	1. A Silent Whisper On Her Throat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time really trying to write in a first person perspective - I wanted to try to be similar to the VN's own narration so I decided to challenge myself. Critique (constructive) on this is welcome. I am still shaking off rust and apologize for any missed typo errors or grammatical hiccups.

1.

The day it all began had been a mixed bag of experiences – the morning had been well and truly ruined by breaking of one of my favorite shoes, my careless hurry to work having proven too much for its heel to bear. What it all led to however was only the beginning of my strange journey into a world I never even thought existed.

With my favorite shoe broken, I was able to grab a pair of sandals from a small store on my way to work, but they were cheap, pink, plastic things that were not at all appropriate for an office lady like myself - not to mention that they didn’t go with my outfit at all - though that was the furthest thing from my mind as I rushed towards the office as the day’s events, set in motion by mishap, began to unfold with little consideration for my thoughts on the matter.

After a few hours of ribbing and jeering from my co-workers about my loud pink slippers (actually loud - they squeaked every step I took – embarrassing!), I was approached by my supervisor, who had nominally come to hand off some paperwork I needed to see to, but had truly come to see what all the fuss was about. I confessed about the morning’s accident and how embarrassing the whole affair was, and after some light conversation and encouragement, she suggested to me the name of a cobbler in Mong Kok whose work she swore by. It was with that I resolved to travel there after work.

The trip via the tram was uneventful, and after getting my bearings, I managed to find the shoe repair shop – a humble little kiosk nestled into a side street, and seemingly closed. It hadn’t occurred to me that it may close early, and the sun was already down. I was disappointed, and about to leave, but I caught sight of a sign saying to call for help. After doing so, I was greeted with an older man opening the gate and coming outside to meet me, apologizing for the wait and examining my shoe. He said he could have it fixed, good as new inside an hour. Ecstatic, I told him I would explore the area a bit and come back.

On the way out of the side-street, I nearly collided with a woman, and, turning to her to apologize, I was immediately taken aback – startled in a way I’d never been startled before.

Immediately this woman struck me with her looks. She had thick, wavy, glamorous hair that fell around her shoulders in brunette locks, framing her face just so. And what a face! I could not decide if she was a beauty or a mess. Her eyes were sharp and piercing, and her face was lean. The woman was pretty, but in an unkempt way. It was an odd first impression. Very little makeup, a graphic-teeshirt under a pair of half done-up overalls, and a pair of loosely laced canvas sneakers.

As much as I must have been staring, she too seemed to be sizing me up, and I felt my cheeks starting to flush with a sudden self-consciousness, so I broke the silence by introducing myself and apologizing for my inattentiveness. The woman offered her own smile, and it was welcoming and almost entrancing. I thought I might be staring again and wanted to turn and leave, to move on with my evening and leave this touch of awkwardness behind me, but she spoke up, apologizing similarly and then nodding to me before extending her hand. I nodded back, but did not return the handshake. Something had me on edge and so I turned away and headed once more out into the main street.

After that, the entire time I was in Mong Kok, I felt strange, as if my wanderings had an audience. Everywhere I turned, I felt eyes on my back. It was unnerving, and my thoughts kept going back to the woman outside the shoe shop. She seemed so carefree and unconcerned with the face she chose to put forward to the world and, in my thoughts I felt a little bit jealous at that sort of cavalier mentality. I caught myself in these thoughts and chastised myself – I was not often one to stew in jealousy, or to let someone else preoccupy my thoughts at all. I wondered why now was any different.

Having wandered into a pet shop I remembered visiting with my father a long time ago I had become lost in staring at a tank of colorful fish before realizing suddenly the set of bright eyes staring back at me from the other side of the tank. It was woman from the street. I started, and she laughed quietly, stepping around the aquarium, a small bag in her hand.

“I’m sorry!”, she apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her voice was almost musical.

I must have looked angry, because she flinched at my reply. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people!”

I wanted to ask her if she was following me, but she had a bag from the pet shop in one hand, and so I gave the benefit of the doubt that she had business here. Normally the sort of cursory apology she had given felt obligatory more than heartfelt, but when she spoke my heart chose to believe it as if it were the infalliable truth. She introduced herself as Samantha Wong, extending her hand for a second time that evening. This time, I felt compelled to take her hand in mine and give her my own introduction. “I’m Michelle. I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.” Her hand was soft but cool to the touch, surprisingly so. Her grip was firm, and she seemed very assertive by her handshake.

Sam asked very directly, “Hey, Michelle, are you hungry?” and I became aware that it was getting late and that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast that morning, since I had been running behind after the incident with my shoe. Even so, I didn’t answer her, and this prompted more out of her “There’s a great brisket place nearby.”

“I don’t know.” I said, mustering a noncommittal response. I did not know this woman, but she had a draw to her that I couldn’t describe. “I shouldn’t spend the money, I can eat when I go home.”

My thoughts passed to home then. To my mother, and I became suddenly aware of time. I did not call her from the office before leaving work to tell her I would be late – I hoped she wasn’t going to wait up for me.

Things seemed to move quickly from there – Sam offered to pay, and despite my best attempts to refuse, we wound up at the brisket place she had been talking up. I ordered what she did, and we began to talk. It was light chatter. I learned that she ran a video store. I talked about my office, about the broken shoe that brought me here. We talked about our English names, how we chose them. I let Sam steer the conversation, chipping slowly away at my food. Her voice had an enchanting quality about it I could not place – musical, boisterous – it made me feel safe and sound. Still, I thought she was one of the strangest people I had ever met – I came from a conservative background and had never been very outgoing. In a way, Sam Wong was impressive and attractive – something I hadn’t felt about another person before outside of a professional aspect, but she was also aspirational, someone whose confidence and certitude I wanted to exemplify.

Before long we had lost track of time. More than an hour had passed, and Sam brought up that my shoe would be done. We left abruptly, and I had been so puzzled over how she knew about my shoe that I hadn’t realized that Sam hadn’t touched a single bite of her food.

My strange escort walked me back through the streets of Mong Kok towards the shop and when we arrived, the gate was still open despite the late hour. Mr. Wong, the cobbler, came out to meet us, shoe in hand and a smile on his face. We exchanged pleasantries and I paid him for his work, wishing him a good night. He made a strange face at Sam before he went inside – an expression that looked sad and pained, but as if he was trying to hide his sadness. I was going to ask how they knew each other but thought better of it. When the door closed, I saw Sam focusing on it with a similarly sad expression.

Sam offered to hail me a cab, or walk me to the subway, but I declined.

Before I left, she asked, “Do you come to Mong Kok a lot?”

“No,” I said. “But maybe I’ll come again, to see your video store. I’m curious!”

That offer seemed to make Sam smile, and I felt a heated flush in my cheeks that, again, puzzled me.

Sam gave a wave. “Well, good night! I’ll look forward to your visit!”

I could only give a weak smile and a nod, turning abruptly and heading back to the main thoroughfare to hail a cab. The walk was short, and I took in more of the scene at Mong Kok. It was a different place at night and day – the air of a bustling market district had faded into something a bit more low-key, the bright light of day replaced by yellow and fluorescent incandescence, highlighted in bright flashy neon signs. Some stores were closed, others were still open, and other places were only just getting going for the evening. This was a lively place no matter the time of day, and I thought to myself it must be exhausting to live here.

As my feet, tired from the awful pink sandals I’d worn all day, carried me to Nathan Street to find a ride home, that strange feeling returned of being watched and stared at. I stopped, abruptly, to turn around, as if to catch someone spying on me. There was nobody except for the passerby flitting everywhere about, going in and out of restaurants and shops. I couldn’t see anyone suspicious, but I felt, oddly, like I was being followed.

It did not take long for me to find a cab, and the silent company of the driver on the way home seemed to alleviate the worrisome feeling I had. It was quiet, and I watched the streetlights pass the window one by one as we moved through the space in between the vibrant and bustling Mong Kok and the quietness of my own small neighborhood.

My thoughts traveled quickly back to the woman I’d met and spent the evening with. I was unable to shake Sam from my thoughts, and I noted with a quiet laugh to myself that being unable to do so was probably her goal – she seemed the sort who liked to be the center of attention. I liked to take things slowly and quietly, at my own pace. Sam seemed like the sort of woman who made everyone around her dance to her rhythm. Not the sort of person I liked to be around at all. I had dealt with flashy friends in school – they moved too fast for me. Still, there was something about her that had captured my wandering thoughts and fixed them on the image of her in my mind.

= = =

Watching the taxi drive off as I started up the walk towards the gate to the building my mother and I lived in, the world settled back into itself. It was quiet here, nothing like Mong Kok or the downtown area where my office was. Here there were few lively shops or bars or restaurants. It was mostly residences, and what few small businesses there were closed early in the evening. There weren’t any tourists, and of course no children were out playing this late. No, at night, the neighborhood in which I lived was dead quiet and empty, traffic was as sparse as it ever would be. Walking through this neighborhood this late in the evening should have been the loneliest feeling in the world, but that feeling returned all the same, even as I rested my hand on the doorway leading into our apartment building.

Somebody had their eyes set on me. I turned, strong in my conviction to warn them off. I hollered into the empty sidewalk “Hello?” There was nothing. Worried I was being silly, or that I would wake someone, I spat out a hushed, whispered warning. “Leave me alone!”

The empty street and sidewalk replied in silence. I felt cold, and I grew a little frightened, so I hurriedly fit my key into the door and entered, pulling shut the door which on any other occasion I would have let drift closed at its own leisurely pace. I did not like this feeling, and I tried to shake it off as I moved through the corridors, up the stairwells and into the apartment I shared with my mother. She was awake and chided me for not calling. I tried to explain the situation, but she insisted on letting me know I should not keep her up late with worry, that it was selfish and rude. I briefly thought of explaining that I was an adult and that she did not need to worry so much about my safety, but I thought better of it. My mother cared for me but she was strict and traditional, and after all, she only wanted for my safety – it was coming from a place of love, not maliciousness, and I didn’t want to risk further argument, so I kept quiet.

I went to bed without eating the supper she’d left out for me – I was still full from my meal with Sam. In the shower I let the hot water wash away the guilt of my mother’s disappointment and the soreness of my feet from the cheap sandals I’d worn all day. My mother had a way of making me feel like a terrible daughter over the smallest things. But I had learned to deal with it in my own way. She was only worrying for me because she cared, I reasoned again. I was lucky to have someone who cared so much for me. Still, whenever I had a confrontation with my mother, it made me miss my father more, wonder if he would be as strict as she was.

After my shower I laid in bed and watched the world outside my window. It was comfortable in my bed. The worrisome feelings of earlier had gone away, already a distant memory on the fringes of my mind. I don’t know when exactly I nodded off, but when I did, it was with thoughts of Sam Wong. As I laid there, my eyes grew heavy, but my mind grew vibrant with the recollection of her face. I took it feature by feature, letting my mind fill in what my drowsy memory could not. I had never found myself fixated on another person this way before, let alone on another woman. I kept thinking of her wavy brown hair that framed her face. Of her sharp eyes and her lean jaw. The way her cheeks moved when she smiled. Of the curve of the place where her neck met her shoulders. I thought of how her outfit seemed to encapsulate her personality, a type of personality I would often avoid, but now I found myself unable to stop thinking about. I felt my cheeks flush and my skin ripple with goosebumps. In this sleepy haze I wondered why I was feeling this way about a woman who was essentially a stranger. My imagination was painting a picture for me that I hadn’t asked for but for which I felt incredibly grateful. Sam really was very pretty, I thought to myself. I wondered what she was doing now, in this moment. Was she thinking of me? As I fell asleep, I hoped she was.

2.

The next day, I wore my repaired heels to work. They felt more comfortable than ever before and looked good as new. With all the strangeness of the night before I hadn’t even stopped to look at them before bed. If anything, they made me feel taller. This in turn made me feel powerful and forceful and gave me a huge boost in confidence. I wondered if it was my imagination.

This was well enough, because as much as I had wished to move on from the jokes and gentle jabs of my co workers the day prior, they were just as dedicated to reminding me about those cheap pink sandals that had set the entire day prior in motion. The confidence boost from my morning walk to work helped greatly and ultimately I let it roll off my back, and threw myself into my work filing reports and analyses, making sure to thank my supervisor for her recommendation of the cobbler in Mong Kok. When lunch time came, I went to my normal place and ran into a fellow co-worker, Joey. He offered to buy me lunch, but I declined. He seemed to be angling to get on my good side as one of the newer hires, but beside the fact that I simply wasn’t interested in a relationship with a co-worker, he also had been involved in the teasing about my shoes and I didn’t want to reward him for it.

Even though I declined his offer, he still sat next to me in the restaurant, and we had a forced conversation about something inconsequential. I wasn’t particularly invested, as my thoughts were again drifting to the night before. To Mong Kok and Sam Wong.

I had told Sam I would visit her store. I’d had little intent on following through on that. I’d said it out of politeness more than anything, to break tension and show some appreciation for her invitation. But the idea of Sam waiting for a guest who would never show up grated on my thoughts – I didn’t want to upset anyone. I convinced myself that it was silly to feel that way. I did not know her; she didn’t know me. Likely, she’d forgotten me already. That thought made me feel more sad than I thought it should. As Joey sat across from me rambling about American action movies, I thought that perhaps I should resolve to do the same. Half-dreaming, I ate very little of my food. Joey took and finished what I did not after I offered it. I do not remember the rest of my conversation with Joey – he is a nice man, but very uninteresting – maybe, had the day prior not occurred, we would have hit if off. Maybe.

The rest of my workday was mostly uneventful. It was a Friday night, and I dodged the usual invites from my co-workers to go out afterwards. I was too shy to kindle too much in the way of friendships, especially after university. I went to work, came home, showered, and went to bed after spending time watching television with my mother or reading. This was my schedule, weekday after weekday, like clockwork. The routine felt safe and comfortable, and I did not see any reason to break it. Besides, it was not as if I didn’t go out by myself on weekends. My life was simple, and I was content with it.

After leaving the office, I made my way to the subway, only to be intercepted again by Joey. He tried to strike up another conversation, but I could not get invested. Becoming increasingly bothered by his persistence, I was feeling a little frantic to get away from the conversation and decided to tell a white lie about having some business at the next stop. When I left the tram, my heart skipped a beat when I saw where I’d gotten off. It was Mong Kok, and just in time for the evening traffic of tourists and shoppers and nightlife to begin filtering in. Not wanting to risk running into Joey again by getting back on the same tram line, and with thoughts of Sam in my head, I decided to seek out her store and make good on my promise.

Things were different here on a Friday night. It seemed even more lively and vibrant as the work week ended. The sun was sinking behind the buildings and the sunlight was beginning to be replaced by the fluorescent and neon tubes that denoted the various shops, bars, and restaurants. I didn’t understand what had compelled me to abandon my ride home so abruptly – Joey wasn’t that bad to talk with, surely. Truly, I knew the answer: my thoughts again drifted to Sam Wong. They’d orbited her all day, and now being so close to seeing her again had struck up a feeling like lightning in my chest.

As I strolled through Mong Kok again, it became obvious that I hadn’t been listening well enough when Sam had told me where her shop was. As I wandered, I thought to trace my steps back to the shoe repair shop – the cobbler seemed to know Sam, maybe he could point me to the right address. As I tried doing this however, I began to become aware that I had taken a bad turn somewhere, and was lost – nothing looked familiar, and I seemed to have wandered into a rougher part of town. Adult bookstores, seedy theaters, and strange assortments of shops lined the streets. The feeling of being watched had again crept in as well, making the hairs on my neck stand on edge.

The touristy main thoroughfares had turned to dark backstreets and I was growing worried and fearful, even jumping at shadows. I heard a strange woman’s voice coming from just inside the darkened door of some curio shop and resolved to convince myself that it was nothing, but when I turned to answer her, she wasn’t there. I thought of ghosts and managed to frighten myself even more. The more I turned about trying to trace my steps backwards, the more lost I seemed to become. Between being in so unfamiliar place and feeling eyes on my back, I felt like I was being hunted, like a rabbit in some fable about wolves. I was more afraid than I ever remembered being. Irrational panic continued to grow in my throat and I felt my chest tighten – there was nobody around to ask for directions, at least nobody I felt comfortable asking.

Just when I had felt worried tears begin welling at the corners of my eyes, I saw through an alley way the familiar bright lights of the main drag. I must have wandered in a huge circle. The lights beyond the alley lit the night sky up in a warm glow and I rushed through the side street hurriedly towards the sound of tourism and busy businesses. I was about to emerge, victorious and ready to flee home when I felt something tug backwards on me roughly.

I yelped and pulled back. A man was trying to steal my bag. I fell backwards and hit the ground, landing in a puddle with a splash before scrambling back towards my bag. I saw the man who had grabbed me holding a kitchen knife and I tried to let out a panicked yelp but he pulled me up, covering my mouth. His hand smelt foul, like liquor and cigarette smoke. I started crying because nobody could here me. But then there was a rush of air and I dropped back to the ground, gasping for air and erupting into sobs when somebody else grabbed me.

“Sh, sh. It is okay now” came the voice. Soothing. Cheerful. Comforting.

As my panicked haze began to fade and reason returned to me, I recognized the voice. Cigarettes and liquor had been replaced by something floral and sweet. Managing to calm myself, I looked up and could hardly believed who I saw there, who had come to my rescue.

It was Sam Wong.

===

After my ordeal in the sidestreet in Mong Kok I had still been panicked and frightened. I had fallen into the street, and my blouse was filthy. After confirming that I wasn’t badly hurt, Sam offered to take me to her apartment where I could clean up. She had a spot of red on her lip and I asked if the man had hit her and she said no, that she’d bitten her lip in the rush. I didn’t want to think of the frightening man any more than I had to, I didn’t ask after him – my bag and my things were still with me, but my blouse was ruined – Sam offered to run it by an all night laundry near her place. I agreed, too shaken to think of an alternative, and we headed towards her place.

It was a strange serendipity that led to this, I thought. A haphazard decision had gotten me lost looking for Sam’s video store, but now here I was, sitting in her apartment wearing one of her shirts. Sam had gone to take my blouse to the laundry, and I took in the studio apartment. It was small and cluttered, but in a way that seemed orderly. She had several VHS tapes stacked on top of a VCR. The VCR itself was very modern looking and seemed like the most expensive thing in the apartment – I thought that Sam was probably very into films with her work being what it was. My mother and I had an older VCR, but we rarely used it.

I turned to the door as Sam entered, jumping a bit in surprise. She smiled and chirped away, “It’s just me! Your shirt should be done in an hour.” I nodded and looked back to the tapes. She seemed to recognize my interest and sat down next to me. “Would you like to watch one?”

I turned back to her and shook my head and answered her no. “I don’t feel like I’d be able to focus on a film right now.” I wasn’t exaggerating – I was still quite shaken and despite the comfy environment of Sam’s apartment and the soothing compliment of her company I still couldn’t shake off the fright I’d gotten. I moved my arm funny and hissed, Sam taking notice again and giving a look of growing concern before asking if I was hurt. I told her that my shoulder was sore from when the man had jerked at my bag, and that I’d scraped my palm on the ground when I fell. I assured her that neither felt too bad, just sore, but she seemed very interested in the scrape on my palm.

I noticed then that Sam was clasping my hand in hers. I looked from my hand to hers, and she was looking into my eyes. The room suddenly felt very heavy. Her gaze was piercing and almost staggering. I felt my cheeks flush. Suddenly, Sam raised my hand in hers to her lips, placing a kiss on my palm where I’d fallen. It stung, and I recoiled, but something stopped me from fully pulling my hand away as Sam let it go.

Sam apologized, seemingly surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you off. I thought maybe it could use a kiss?” I smiled, because for the first time since I met Sam yesterday, I felt I was the one with the upper hand, having seemed to have genuinely caught the exhuberant woman off guard. I felt a sudden tension in the room, but not in a bad or worrisome way. I decided to try to break it with a casual question. “I meant to visit your shop, but I got lost. Where exactly is it?”

Sam seemed to recover from the minor bit of embarrassment quickly and talk of her shop seemed to lighten her disconcerted smile into a genuine grin. She told me where it was, and we laughed together because it became obvious that I had been wandering in exactly the opposite direction. The conversation ebbed and flowed between animated and calm. The fact that my life had been in danger not hours ago faded faster and faster from my mind.

The conversation was interesting. We were two people from two different lifestyles. It started very much superficial – I chided her for an ailing house plant on the railing of her balcony. She dodged the criticism by turning the conversation to work. I thought Sam’s choice to run a video store was strange, but she explained to me her love of classic films, and how it was a labor of love. She seemed surprised when I said I preferred reading. She tried desperately to convince me of the value of film.

Watching Sam talk about her video store made me smile. She was so vibrant and animated, and her positivity seemed infectious, and I proceeded answer her questions about my office, albeit with a bit of embarrassment – I felt my work wasn’t as interesting as hers, even if I’d never say as much. An hour passed, and then more, and we began to talk about family, but Sam seemed to grow very defensive, and changed the subject to fashion, complimenting me on how I made such a conservative look work so well, to which I took mock offense that she immediately saw through.

We joked back and forth, and I noticed after a loud round of laughter that she had taken my hand in hers again, and that she was staring at me again. This time, I didn’t question it or start or recoil but I stared back instead. Her eyes, her cheeks, her chin. It all seemed so wonderful. An awful evening had completely turned around. I had made a friend, too, it seemed. I was glad that my feeling that she’d have forgotten me had been false. Her hand gripped mine a little tighter, and the energy in the apartment grew close. I caught myself staring and panicked, blurting out an excuse for a hurried departure. “I- should go get my blouse and go, it’s getting late!” I stood, and the suddenness of it seemed to shock Sam, who stood as well.

I stood there for a split second, unable to process what had happened to cause this sudden change in my mood. Our hands were still locked, but it was me who wasn’t letting go. My thoughts raced through my head one after the other, scrambled and disorganized and I found myself leaning into a kiss as she leaned in. I found myself lost in the moment. I felt as if I was floating as a thousand different feelings shot through me. The taste of her lips. The smell of her hair and her perfume. The hotness of her breath. Another moment passed, and my eyes opened to meet hers. I started to speak again but she moved again in second, weightier kiss. I stumbled a bit, pushing into it this time and feeling the wall of her apartment at my back. Things moved so quickly then. I felt warm. Something in my mind was telling me to flee and run away, but something else was begging me to stay.

I had never kissed anyone that way before, and my mind was shocked that I was doing it now, especially with a woman. It occurred to me that I’d never fantasized about kissing anyone, boy or girl, but that in this moment here and now I felt such a rush of euphoria that nothing else could have felt so electric. Another part of me was less shocked, was enjoying it in a different, hungry sort of way. I felt a stirring warmth growing in my chest. My skin seized and erupted in goosebumps and the warmth in my cheeks spread down, into my chest as my heart felt itself racing. Part of me felt as if I should flee. That part of me knew this was wrong and shameful, feared what my co-workers would think, what my mother would think. It bucked and lashed out even as the other part of me let Sam kiss me a third time, pinning me against the wall of her apartment. A fourth kiss at my cheek, and then another on my jaw. My chin.

I questioned her ministrations, “Sam I- I-… we-.”, I was stuttering and staggering as my mind raced to find purchase on any thought other than Sam Wong.

Sam’s voice reached my ears in a low and sultry growl. “I want this. Do you?”

I thought to protest, but my tongue had other ideas. “I-… I do…”

She nestled her head against mine, issuing one more sensual affirmation. “You can be honest,” she said. “I don’t want to push.”

I couldn’t reply, something different had come over me. Something strange and unfamiliar. My arms had been behind me while Sam had laid her kisses on. Now they moved to her shoulders, clutching them. “I think I do- no, I do. I do.”

Her kisses continued again, starting again at my lips and travelling along my cheek, to my jaw and then at my neck. It felt different now, but I was too lost in the moment to care. It felt wonderful and electric and dangerous and my world lit up like the lights of Mong Kok when I felt a sharpness on my neck. Sam’s lips lingered there, and I felt a hot energy radiating from her kiss, as if in that single kiss at my throat our energies had bridged the space between us. My fingers and toes, curling at the sensation, felt simultaneously cold while other extremities felt aroused and stiff. I found myself pressing into the kiss, its lingering pressure something new, some feeling and sensation I’d never experienced. The warmth growing from that point turned to a hotness and when she finally pulled away, I almost fell to the ground, overcome with pleasure and satisfaction. Had Sam not been there, I would have fallen, but she caught me, and I felt myself rapidly losing my hold on the world.

Nothing existed in that moment except the bliss of this space I shared with Sam Wong. “Yes.” I answered. “I want this.”

Affirmed in her intent, again I felt Sam lower her lips to my neck and she kissed me again in that same strange way, and again my world lit up and dimmed down in the same instant, and I let out a shout of ecstasy and pleasured pain before my whole world went dark and quiet, Sam's whispers of heated comfort the last thing in my mind before sleep claimed me.

\- To Be Continued -


	2. A Silent Whisper In Her Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle attempts to reconcile uncertainty of an unremembered evening with the desire to return to the mundane routine of her life as it was before Sam Wong walked into it.

2.

I awoke without any memories of the night before, feeling quite drained and exhausted. How I had gotten home, I do not know, and a sudden fear had overtaken me. Had Sam brought me home? Had she met my mother? What did my mother think?

It was with trepidation and not a small sensation of fear and nausea that I moved from my bedroom to the bathroom. It was still early morning, the cool lavender-gray crossfade between night and day only beginning. The apartment was quiet. I wondered if I could simply avoid my mother. Get a shower. Leave for work very early, pass time elsewhere. My thoughts drifted to Mong Kok. To Sam Wong. I caught myself daydreaming, hand perched on the door of our bathroom, and jolted myself free. My stomach sank like it held a boulder. I’d never felt the need to be so secretive about things with regards to my mother. I felt ashamed.

In the shower’s solace I remembered glimpses of the night prior. Of the attacker. Of Sam’s rescue in that dark side alley. I remembered the smells of an evening in the city converging and wafting in through her apartment’s window, evening cooking and smoke and humidity.

I remembered her kiss, and like a dog chasing a rabbit my hand shot to where she’d kissed me, and I winced. Something felt tight, painful, and sore on my neck.

After finishing I looked in the mirror. I looked tired but refreshed. Today would be a long day. But then I saw what sat beneath my hand – a mark, just slightly purple with bruising and pink from the heat of the shower. I uncomfortably craned my neck, to put more light on it, felt it again, patted it with fingers. At its center sat two darker spots. I tried to see more detail, but before I could get a very good look, I jumped nearly out of my skin as thunder crashed against the bathroom door.

“Fong Ha Cheung!”

My mother. My eyes widened in panic. My mother couldn’t see me with a kiss mark on my neck, let alone one so deep. The thunderous hammering came again.

“Fong Ha CHEUNG!”

“Yes! I’m here!” I replied, stammering.

“You had better be!” My mother’s voice came.

I hastily wrapped my head in the largest towel I had, less for my hair and more to let it cover my neck. Throwing on my bathrobe I tentatively opened the door, and my mother was waiting on the other side, eyes staring daggers that cut deeper than anything else ever could or would.

“Where were you.” My mother asked.

“I was late at the office.” I said, repulsed at how fast I allowed myself to lie.

“Why didn’t you call? Does the office not have a telephone?”

“I was very busy, mother.” I lied again, guts twisting.

By her look, I could tell she was struggling to believe me. But I had never lied to my mother, or stepped so far out of line, but the severity in her face did not lessen even as she seemed to buy into my story. I felt on trial. My mother had that effect. “You look awful.” She said, offering no further condemnation, but offering little in the way of forgiveness either. “They shouldn’t be keeping you that late. You need your rest.”

And finally, her mother’s worry came through, and I felt as though the storm had passed.

“I’m sorry.” I finally offered. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll call home if I’m going to be late again.”

My mother stood back, as if to allow me to go. And I did, rushing to my room. She had not brought up Sam, and that was proof enough that I’d been saved that difficult conversation. I wanted to cry, somewhere between tears of relief and shame. But I took the small victory and moved prepare to leave early for work.

I left from home in such a rush. My clockwork schedule had once again been disrupted and I found it frustrating. This time, instead of being rushed, I had an entire morning stretching in front of me. Work did not begin until nine o’clock, and I had arrived in downtown with nearly an hour to spare.

This should have afforded me some leisure and relaxation, but it only gave me time to ruminate on the guilt I felt for lying to my mother, and the reticence and uneasy regret and anxiety I had about the source of it all – Sam.

My fingers chanced at the lavender ribbon around my neck – I had covered the shameful mark with makeup, but in my rush I lacked confidence in how well I’d done so, and so I’d opted for a small scarf that went with my outfit. The weather wasn’t right for it, and it made my neck hot, but that was a small price to pay to avoid office embarrassment. I had a reputation, and while I’d never really concerned myself with it, or even acknowledge it before now, this morning had shaken me, alongside the uncertainty of the night that had led to it.

Sitting in a small plaza park between the building my office was in and the one across, I stared at the morning sky’s brightening haze. I thought about Sam. Why couldn’t I remember anything after her kiss last night? Had I fainted? I couldn’t have. Had I been drugged?

Stories of that were rampant these days – and it could explain how I could have come home without remembering. Suddenly I found my uncertainty and shame morphing into anger and disgust. I tempered this, not wanting to give an outburst in public. I wasn’t feeling great today, was it some sort of hangover? The pieces seemed to fit, and I stood up to walk around the small park as I ruminated and stewed on them more.

I had convinced myself that the -only- explanation could have been that. That Sam Wong was some wild girl who had tried to get wild with me. That I should be infuriated with Sam Wong for putting this stress on me, for making me lie to my mother when I heard someone call out to me from the direction of my firm’s office building.

“Hey! Aren’t you early?”

I winced visibly before turning. It was Joey again. I sighed inwardly. I was not in the mood for him. I pretended I had not seen him, and turned around, feigning obliviousness and looking at a billboard across the street, as if it held my interest when really I was still trying to force myself to believe that I’d been taken advantage of the night before.

I couldn’t make myself do it. Sam didn’t strike me as malicious. Maybe unreliable. Maybe frustrating in how carefree she seemed. But not that way. Not to do something like that. I couldn’t believe that she could be so scandalous and predatory. Perhaps I should, but I didn’t want to.

“Hey, Slippers!” Joey’s voice came again. This time faster, quickly approaching. I gave him a dirty look. “What?” He asked, his expression seemed genuinely concerned before realization dawned on it. “Oh right, sorry. I forget!” He gave a point and a wink. I didn’t return the smile.

Being reminded of previous embarrassments right now was the last thing I needed. Being reminded of them by Joey doubly so. It struck me in that moment how fake he felt. I was sure that he was a nice man. That he meant nothing mean by it. I remembered our lunch the other day. Our conversations about the times, about politics. Surface level things that everyone had passing knowledge of and pretended to care about for the sake of idle conversation. I had co-workers at work, I did not have friends at work. Joey was the sort to remind me of why sometimes that was by design. His approach had done enough to unhitch my thoughts from Sam, however and we headed into the building together. He chatted the whole way. I don’t remember a single word of what he said.

The day passed slowly, at a drag. I still felt tired and drained. When lunchtime came around, I went to my usual place. I found it blissfully empty. I ordered and waited and received my lunch but sat resigned before a bowl of food that simply didn’t appeal. The weather outside was humid and bright and sunny, and that seemed to take all the energy out of my body. Staring at my terminal screen at work, the bright lights. Everything seemed brighter. Thoughts of Sam drifted back into my head, and with them ponderances of what exactly had happened the night before.

Hungover. A migraine. Sick. All of these were alien concepts to me anyways. I had always been in fairly good health. I got plenty of rest. Lived a routine that saw me take good care of myself. I wasn’t used to feeling this unwell or this unfocused.

Back at the office I found myself making simple and avoidable mistakes, catching them but making them all the same. I did not like feeling this way. Every other thought rested on Sam Wong. On her face. Her tousled hair. Her carefully careless style of dress. Her body. Her voice.

The fluorescent lighting in the office hammered on me. When I wasn’t thinking of Sam, I was thinking of how much I dreaded going home. How much I dreaded seeing my mother. I had avoided fallout with her this morning, but I felt as if seeing her again would only be reinviting her to squeeze the truth out of me. I didn’t like the feeling of hiding something from her. I felt dirty for it. Before today I couldn’t remember ever lying to my mother. We had a strict relationship, yes, but it was respectful. I felt I had broken that respect now. It burned in the hollow of my chest and the pit of my stomach.

I hated Sam Wong for making me feel this way.

By the time I was pushing my last bit of paperwork into my boss’ inbox for the morning, I had gone back and forth about my thoughts. I was of two minds; part of me desired closure, to go and confront Sam, to ask her what had happened, what she had done. The other part of me thought it better to simply take this as a lesson about strangers, to simply go home and return to the routine of my life. I had narrowly dodged conflict with my mother. I hadn’t been found out by anybody at work. I could simply move on with my life, and nobody besides Sam and I would ever need to know.

On the metro home I reflected further. How luck was I to have scraped by so cleanly. The scandal of some sort of loose affair would have been enough to ruin me in the eyes of my mother, but the idea of being with another woman was even more scandalous. My mother was a conservative and traditional woman. My workplace was a conservative and traditional workplace. I felt cold fingers up and down my spine, making me shudder as I considered the ramifications of what public knowledge of the incident between Sam Wong and I could do to my prospects as a future wife, as an office lady.

The station stopped at the same place it had last night when I had escaped Joey. It was Mong Kok.

I stared at the train’s door, open and rushing with people, first out, then in. I thought of what I would say to Sam Wong if I saw her. People stopped filing in, and the metro car had gone from brimming to nearly empty to full again. The door closed. I let the thought slip away. The train moved onward, and I let loose a breath of relief that I had not gone with my instincts to seek her out.

I ate dinner with my mother, wordlessly. Usually we would talk about my work, or her day, but I still didn’t feel well, and I was afraid of prompting more discussion of my indiscretion the night before. Whatever conversation we had was superficial and brief. I was anxious.

We sat together in the den and my mother listened to Opera records while I pretended to read. It was several boring and agonizing hours. Normally I loved to spend the evening sat with a good book, my mother’s records or television programs giving a background of white noise. But tonight, much like today, I could not focus. My thoughts kept drifting to the uncertainty of the night before. To thoughts of Sam. I wrestled with it over and over in my mind. Why was it all so hazy?

I kept coming back to the idea that I’d been taken advantage of. That was all I could do to explain why I had no memory of coming home. It infuriated me, but it also perplexed me. Sam didn’t seem like that. Sam couldn’t be like that. I thought about the diner. About how she had come to my rescue.

I jumped with fright when my mother broke the quietude of the evening to let me know she was going to bed. That she had scared me seemed to startle her.

“Are you alright? You’re acting awfully strange this evening, Fong Ha.” She asked, head tilted, brows narrowed.

“I’m fine,” I replied, shaking the surprise from my face. “Just tired. Busy day today.” I lied again. Today had been slow, it was just that I had been too tired to function at my normal level. Inwardly I wondered when I became so hasty with dishonesty. I excused myself – I didn’t want to worry my her after all. “I think I will go to bed too though.” I said.

“Take a shower, you will feel better.” My mother said. Her gaze lingered on me a bit longer and she turned to leave. I watched her retire to her own bedroom, and I stood to go to mine to get some night clothes.

My mother had been right. A shower would make me feel better, but as I undressed in our bathroom, I pulled the scarf from my neck and remembered why it was there. I looked at it in the mirror, but the mark was still mostly covered by makeup. As I wiped it away, the bruising seemed to be completely gone, and the redness had all but faded away. Left though were two small marks, almost like scars, or even like birthmarks, just a few centimeters apart from each other.

While I was happy the overt mark had seemed to fade, the two small spots seemed to be even worse – almost as if I’d been tattooed. I felt them with my fingers – they were slight dips, but not open wounds, healed but not healed. It puzzled me and I rubbed at them as if to perhaps take more makeup off. It was still sore. I decided it too would heal, eventually, and went about my shower.

Afterwards I laid in bed, trying again to read, but finding it to simply be an impossible feat. I looked at the time – it was nine pm. A little earlier than I normally went to bed, but as I sat there, hugging a stuffed bear I’d had since childhood and staring out at the city’s evening lights, I resolved that the more distance between me and the day in question, the more distance I’d be able to put between myself and Sam Wong.

I turned out my light, and rolled over, staring at myself in the reflection of my window. I ran a hand over the mark she’d given me. I hoped it would heal. I’d never been given a kiss mark like that. I hoped it would fade and the constant thoughts of Sam Wong would fade with it. Before long, my eyes seemed very heavy, and the world closed down around me.

In my dreams I felt her lips on me. On my cheek, my neck. Felt her nip at me. I felt her strong grip at my hips. At my thighs. I saw her in the dark, outlined perfectly. I asked her what had happened, but she said nothing. I felt her grip on my thigh, her strength as she tried to pull it away from its partner. I resisted, I asked her again what she had done that night, but again she said nothing. When I tried to shout at her, I felt her lips lock with mine, felt her tongue in my mouth, felt her leg, strong and forceful, push its way in between my legs, felt it grind on my softer spot. I felt heat then. Heat and electricity and I felt a sharp pain at my throat that sent the dream into a haze of red.

When my eyes opened, it was still dark in my room. The sound of the fan in my ceiling the only low hum in the room. I knew I was alone, but I felt like I was being watched. I remembered the feeling from the night I’d met Sam Wong, walking home I’d felt a similar way. Like something watched me from afar.

This felt different though. The space in front of me felt much closer, like somebody was in the room with me. I sat forward, looked around my room, painted in cool tones from the dim city light coming in from outside. I was alone. I felt suddenly tired. Despite being a little frightened, I let my guard down then, laying back and feeling the world become heavy again.

As I felt myself drift off, I caught a glimpse of the world outside, and marveled in a dreamy haze at its nighttime beauty. As my eyes closed, it was again with the thought of Her. Where was she. What was she doing? Why couldn’t I stop myself from missing her? I tried to recall the dream I’d had just now, but that too had almost instantly faded away. I remembered pieces of it. I felt a shameful wetness between my legs. I felt stiffness under my night shirts. I felt dirty all over again. Dirty and ashamed. I couldn’t be honest with my mother, with my work and, now I felt as if I couldn’t be honest with myself.

As much as I tried to convince myself to hate her, I needed to see her again. I needed to be in her presence again. It was a growing feeling in me, a hunger that needed to be fed, to be sated.

As I faded once more from the world, it was with a sort of bittersweet reluctance, as if all the weight of the stress and anxiety that had loomed over my head during the day was still precariously placed over my head, waiting for a push one way or the other. I was afraid of the mess it would all make if it fell.

I rolled over once more and forced my mind to quiet. This would all be behind me tomorrow. Tomorrow would be a new day. I wouldn’t let this rule over me. My eyes drifted closed, and I entered a deep and slumbering sleep – one bereft of Sam Wong.

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses characters, scenes, and locations from the visual novel "A Summer's End: Hong Kong 1986" in what I hope is a transformative and interesting way. This piece of fanfiction would not exist without that story, and I cannot stress enough how much I feel anyone reading it should also go and support Oracle and Bone's efforts and play the visual novel. In the same way it gave me a flavor of lesbian romance I have been craving, I hope this work also entertains and delights any who read it.
> 
> I want also to give thanks to Oracle and Bone for creating such a wonderful world and set of characters and story to explore, and for being so kind, caring, and wonderful to the fans of their work. Their encouragement has meant the world.


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